Love's Journey
by Marli8907
Summary: This story is a mixture from Phantom of the Opera and Love Never Dies. It pulls a little from both, but it does not follow the full story line to Love Never Dies. It starts six months after the end of Phantom. ChristinexErik
1. Chapter 1

This story is a mixture from Phantom of the Opera and Love Never Dies. It pulls a little from both, but it does not follow the full story line to Love Never Dies. It starts six months after the end of Phantom, about in time with the story told in "Beneath a Moonless Sky" from Love Never Dies. It is ChristinxErik. It treats Raoul as Love Never Dies does. It spans the time between the two. I own neither the musical nor the characters associated, only my story here. I hope you enjoy and review. The M rating is for scenes between Christine and Erik and for violence with Raoul.

_Paris, 6 months after the Phantom's supposed death._

Christine Daae sat at her dressing table, placing her perfect locks into the correct positions so she might go out into public looking acceptable as the future Vicomtess _de_ Chagny. She smiled sadly at herself in the mirror. All the pearls adorning her neck and dresses fitting snugly to her small frame could never make her feel the way she had felt before.

After fleeing the opera house Raoul had sworn she would not perform again, for fear that, though his death was rumored, the Phantom would once again claim Christine and entrap her. At first, Christine had been wholeheartedly for this, having been so scared after her last encounter on the stage. However, as time healed her wounds she yearned for music…most of all, his music.

"Miss Daae?" a voice flowed in from outside her doorway.

"Yes?" she rose to meet the woman plainly dressed, hair back in a simple twist, eyes dark and empty.

"I was told to deliver this to you personally." She handed her a simple letter with a wax seal on the back. All at once, Christine's heart stopped.

"Thank you," she responded, nodding and clutching the letter in her hand. Was it fear? Excitement? That rose in her then? Could she truly be happy he was alive? She wanted to be disgusted with herself. He deserved to be dead. He had hurt her, threatened her, tricked her into doing his bidding. But…

Her hand ran along the seal. Amidst all the fear and dread he brought within her, he brought something else, something intoxicating. No drink or drug could ever make her feel the way he had. The hours they'd spent, never seeing, never speaking, only singing in secret. The songs and melodies that had danced in her dreams for years. The deep, strange world he had created underneath the opera house….it was….beautiful. Strange, and yet, it was still so beautiful. And their kiss….her heart stopped once more.

She had thought she would be repulsed when she had pressed her lips so deeply to his, drinking in his taste, feeling his smooth lips against her own, shivers radiate down her spine. She had half a notion to stay there with him instead of running back to Raoul, but….she had done what she thought was right, what she thought she must.

And after that moment she had been so sure they had come and taken him. She'd been so sure she would never lay eyes on him again. That his music would never fill her dreams. Yet here was his seal plain as day in her hand.

She flicked her fingernail underneath and plied back the wax, pulling forth a small penned note. It was an address. Was this a jest? Was someone toying with her? All at once hot anger rose up within her. Who would do such a thing? Who would make such a horrid joke?

But then, suddenly, the thoughts changed. What if it was him? Would she dare go? "Tonight," she told herself, folding the piece of paper up into her drawer. Tonight, she would go and see if this was torture or truth. Curiosity could not help but force her to see for herself who had beckoned her.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Thank you to those who have read and enjoyed the first chapter. I hope to live up to your expectations.

Christine paused just feet away from the door to the address she had been handed. Her hand shook and the paper vibrated within it. "I can't…" she whispered to herself, heartbeat pulsing in her ears. She turned on her heel to go, but something stopped her.

Music, beautiful, deep, sensual melodies trickled into her ear. She could hear a piano, clearly old and decrepit yet producing such intoxicating sounds. Her face lifted toward it as her throat ached to sing. Had it been six months since she'd stepped onto a stage? Been in a rehearsal? Received his lessons? Without being asked, her feet drew toward the door. Her heart began to beat in time with the melodies from inside, and in ¾ time she knocked on the door.

The music ceased and Christine's eyes flew open. What was she doing? She should go! She spun once more, but the door creaked open and a hand landed on hers.

"Christine?" it asked. That dark, thick voice she'd known anywhere. It was him.

"Erik?" she returned, eyes turning to look at him, but shrouded in the darkness she saw only the frame.

His other hand reached out and touched her face. "You look so beautiful."

"How can you see me? It's blind dark. The moon has hidden tonight." Her eyes searched the sky, hoping to see a sign. Why was she here?

"I know every curve of your face. I don't need to see you to know your beauty." Her face bared a blush he could not see, but he could feel the heat in her cheeks. "You came…"

"I thought you were dead…" her voice sounded a little colder, but not hurtful. It was not as though she truly wished it, only that she had truly believed it.

"You should have known better. If a broken heart could not, then nothing could kill me." His hand brushed over the cool metal and stone upon her finger.

"Yes, I am to be Christine Daae no more…"

"You will always be Christine Daae. He can take many things away from you, but never that…" His voice held bitterness beyond her being wretched from him.

"He loves me." She responded matter-of-factly.

"So do I!" Erik screamed, and almost as if the words had wounded him, he fell back into the blackness of the room, releasing her hand and face.

"Erik?" She reached out for him, but he shied away. "Please…" The door clicked shut behind her as she reached out for his hand once more. "I've…missed you…" her fingertips ran along the edge of the mask on his face and gently pulled it away, lightly falling to the ground.

His hand flew up to his face to cover up, but neither could see in the darkness. And neither cared in that moment.

Christine drew herself up, closer and closer to him and gently pressed her lips into his own. His heart raced, pumped the lust and love and adrenaline throughout his body. He gripped her waist tight and pulled her into him.

She wove her fingers through his hair and clasped his head, drawing them deeper into one another, wholly fixated in the moment.

His fingers began to dance with the laces of her bodice, daring himself to untie them, but something held him back. He could not defile her. He could not force her into anything. He wanted her. He ached for her, but he would not let himself. She was too perfect, and he was…

He stopped, releasing her, and she gasped for breath for a moment. "Erik…"

"Christine, you're engaged to be married….to someone else….someone more worthy than I could ever be…" The words dug into her, pierced her soul.

"But he's not who I'm thinking of now. He's not who I've thought of when I go to bed at night. He's not on my lips when I wake in the morning…"

His eyes caught hers, the slightest flicker of brightness, the slightest spark in the night.

"He's not who haunts my dreams…" She reached out to him once more, running her hand along his side then pulling out a corner of his tucked shirt. She ran her hand down the other side, repeating the same motion. She ran her hands underneath, feeling his warm flesh against her hands. "He's not you."

It wasn't the confession he'd always hoped for, but it was enough. His hands pulled loose the first ring, then another and another until the bodice fell away, leaving her undergarments exposed. He reached out and caressed her silk-covered chest, sliding his hand down the curve of her hip. She smiled and pressed her head into his chest. He still smelled like the opera house, like her past, like the time she loved.

He kissed the top of her head, breathing her in as well, and they stood a moment, just drinking it all in. Then the flame ignited once more and his lips captured hers, starting the rapture all over. Her hands tugged at his trousers, his at her skirts, and tore the clothing from their bodies. The tongues twisted and mingled, teeth biting lips, tearing at the flesh with a feverish need. His arms scooped her up to him, backing them into the other room, where a small bed lay against the wall. He gently placed her down on it, putting himself on top of her.

He wanted to ask her if she was sure, but scared she'd change her mind, he kept his lips pressed to hers. He throbbed wanting to be inside of her, and he could tell she felt the same, nipples perked rubbing against his chest, hands groping at parts of a man she'd never even seen. She pulled him in closer, almost into her, and he came up for air.

"Christine?" he panted.

"Make love to me." She whispered.

"You're sure?" he didn't want to keep asking, but he would never forgive himself hurting her.

"Erik, make love to me." She gently said again, bringing him down to her once more. He pushed himself inside of her, feeling her wince underneath him. He was hurting her. He knew he was.

He pulled back, then entered once more. She tensed again.

"Are you alright?" She nodded, trying to kiss him to reassure him. It was painful, extremely, but still a hot need ran through her to feel what it must feel like past the pain. He cupped her buttocks in his hands, bringing her pelvis to his as he came in and out, in and out. She began to understand, loosen, and feel more than just pain.

A hot wave of blood gushed, and yet he kept on. Little moans began to come from her, driving him wild. "Oh Erik!" she screamed out, back arching, lips pursing and panting. He felt himself close, but pressed on, praying for her release before his. The two gasped together, melding into one, moaning, panting, nails tearing into flesh, and then, collapse.

He wanted to get off of her so as not to crush her completely but utter exastion crept in so suddenly. They breathed in unison, gasping. She kissed his face, the side not smooth and normal. She nuzzled her nose to his and smiled.

He rolled beside her, still grasping her waist. She laid her head on his shoulder, and the two drifted to sleep peacefully in one anothers' arms.


	3. Chapter 3

An: Thanks for the reviews, and yes, it took me longer than a day this time, but I promise I'll try to keep on a regular schedule of at least one chapter a week. If I can

do more, I'll do more. I won't keep you in suspense too long. So glad to have readers!

_Paris. Dawn._

The light crept into the tiny window in the room, spilling across Christine's pale face. A smile played on her lips, and she reached out to touch Erik beside her. The smile faded to frown, patting the empty space beside her, cold. Her eyes fluttered open, sitting straight up. "Erik?" she looked around the room, but it was bare, only she, a small chest, and the bed. She wrapped the sheet round her and walked into the living room, nothing. The couch, the piano, a table, a note…her hand brushed it looking down with disbelieving eyes. "Christine, enjoy your life. Thank you for a moment of happiness in mine. Erik."

She clenched it in her fist, tears welling up in her eyes. How could he! Hadn't what they had done meant anything to him? Hadn't he felt what she felt the night before? The music between them? The love and passion and hunger? "But I love you…" she whispered. Why hadn't she said it the night before? Why hadn't those precious words crossed her lips as they had his? He had whispered how he loved her in her ears over and over as his sweat dripped onto her own, as his lips caressed her ears, as his hands held her close, as their bodies entwined. All she'd had to say was "I love you too," but here she stood, alone, with no one to blame but herself.

_Later that same day._

Christine couldn't bring herself to go straight home. She'd pinned her hair and put back on her dress then wandered around the little space wondering if perhaps he would come back for her. Perhaps Erik would change his mind, but he hadn't; and he didn't. So eventually she wandered back to her home and tried to hide her swollen eyes.

"Christine!" She hadn't expected when she rounded the corner Raoul would be waiting for her. He almost sounded more like a father scolding a child than an adoring fiancé.

"Raoul. I hadn't expected to see you until much later…" she had hoped not to see him at all.

"Where on earth have you been? I came hours ago, and they told me you were out. I decided to wait, but where have you been?"

"Walking…clearing my head…" it wasn't entirely a lie.

"Darling you look as though you've been crying…"

"No, no, I just…didn't sleep well is all." Also, not entirely a lie.

"Is something troubling you?" his voice held such genuine concern. She felt so guilty. She didn't deserve his goodness to her.

"No, I'm just…" she put on a smile, "so excited about the wedding." That, was a lie.

"So am I, darling, I can't wait to see you standing there all in white…" she wanted to vomit when he said that. She was no longer a spotless lamb for him. "Walking down that aisle to become my wife…"

"Mmhmm…" she nodded, trying to keep the smile plastered on. "Do you really think it will all be ready in time?" she was trying to stall in any way possible. What if Erik changed his mind? Oh please Erik, change your mind.

"We have almost two weeks before the wedding."

"I know, but my dress is hardly started! They just measured me three days ago…"

"For the second time…" Raoul raised an eyebrow. "Is something wrong Christine? You don't seem yourself at all."

"I told you I'm just…tired…anxious." She just wanted him to go so she could crawl into bed and cry.

He drew close to her, running his fingers through her hair and tucking a piece behind her ear. "My little Lottie…always worrying…" he kissed the top of her head. "All will be ready, I assure you. I will see to it myself that everything is more than perfect for you."

She pressed her head into his chest. "Thank you Raoul. You mean so much to me…" and he did. But was it enough?

"Rest. I'll be by later to check on you, alright?" He smiled down at her, placing a hand under her chin to raise her face to his for a quick peck.

"Thank you, Raoul." Her eyes looked down and she waited breathless for him to leave. As soon as the door clicked shut she undressed and unpinned her hair. She put on her night dress and crawled into the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin, and fought back the tears no more.

_In another part of Paris…_

Erik couldn't go back to that place anymore. She knew where he was. He couldn't jeopardize her happiness anymore. It was a moment, just one brief, beautiful moment that he would treasure the rest of his life. He could never condemn her to his face.

"Madame Giry…" he wrapped at the door.

"Erik? What on earth! Come in!" she yanked him in the door.

"I've been discovered….I need…"

"Speak no more. I had already a plan to speak to you about."

He looked at her questioningly. "A plan?"

"America…" she smiled.

"America? What of it?"

"Let the world think you are dead. Come with Meg and me to America. I have heard marvelous things about the performance prospects. They are open and welcoming! They do not have the biases of Paris. You shall come with us."

"When?" he could not disrupt her if he were not even on the same continent.

"I am going to book a passage for later this week. Shall I book one for you as well?"

"Yes. I will accompany you."

"We'll have to give you a new name…no one knows you by Erik so it should be fine to keep the first…how about Young? Erik Young?"

"It sounds perfect…"


	4. Chapter 4

An: As if it wasn't already, it's gonna get real spoilery for anyone who hasn't seen Love Never Dies. So…if you don't know all the twists and turns of the show, and you don't want to, you probably should stop reading until you see it. But thanks everyone for reading, and enjoy.

_A week later…_

Erik boarded the ship, carrying a small bag of his own and a large trunk of Meg's. Madame Giry had been so kind as to let him come with them, the least he could do was to help in any way he could. He had agreed to help them search for work when they arrived and write music for Meg to sing and dance to. She was surely no Christine, but he would show his gratitude nonetheless.

He searched the crowds almost hoping she'd somehow found him out and had come to tell him not to go. He'd of course wish better for her than himself, but if she'd insisted…

"Mister Young," Meg chirped, nudging him.

He snapped out of his fantasy and handed the man taking the boarding passes his own. The man nodded, and the trio walked on past.

"Still not used to the new name?" she giggled. Her sunny face and blonde curls looked so girlish. He knew she was the same age as Christine, but something about her always made him think of a child. Whereas, though he'd been seeing Christine since she was a child, she always seemed so grown up.

"No, I…guess I'm not…" he looked down, and just kept walking.

"It'll be better over there. It will. You'll have us." Meg grasped his hand in her own, and he could see a spark in her eyes that scared him. And in that moment he wished he had run straight off the boat.

_In Christine's Home…_

The tailor had come to fit the framework of the dress, and was poking and prodding Christine as she tightened. Christine winced, shrieking as she attempted to lace the last of the bodice. "Must this process be so painful?" she put her hands on her breasts, wincing.

"I measured you just last week. It's not too tight. You're just being sensitive." She gave it one last yank, bringing a tear to Christine's eye.

"You look beautiful," Raoul said, coming into the room.

Christine flipped around, facing him, covering herself. "Raoul! You're not supposed to see me!"

"Oh, but I wanted to see how everything was progressing."

"Beautifully Viscount." The seamstress responded. Christine did not answer. Her breasts hurt terribly in the dress that was squeezing them, and she felt lightheaded, perhaps from not eating yet that day.

"Well, you are beautiful, and you will be even more beautiful when it is completed." Christine tried to follow after Raoul, to talk to him privately about the seamstress, but she was caught by her corset strings and pulled backward.

"We are not done!" she called, pulling Christine back to her.

Suddenly the lightheadedness flooded over her once more, and Christine took a step backward, fluttering her eyes. She shook her head, trying to hold back the feeling, but before she could even realize it, she fainted.

Raoul rushed back into the room, screaming at the seamstress she must have put the dress on too tight. "Christine! Christine!" he crouched and pulled her into his arms, fanning her.

The seamstress ran out of the room and into the adjacent bathroom, pulling smelling salts out of the bathroom counter and running back in. She held them under Christine's nose, trying to wake her.

Christine jarred, and her eyes popped open. She looked around the room, confused for a moment. "Oh Christine!" Raoul kissed her forehead, squeezing her tight.

"Ow," she winced. She clutched her eyes tight again, then opened them once more to look at Raoul.

"I'm sorry…you're hot. I think you may have a fever…"

"I'm fine…" she assured, trying to stand but feeling dizzy once more.

"No, we need to get you out of this and into bed immediately!" Raoul fumbled with the strings of the corset, but Christine pushed him away.

"Raoul stop! It's bad enough you've seen me in my dress, but you can't see me unclothed! Go!"

He dejectedly went and stood outside of the door, glaring at the seamstress.

She began to tug at the strings herself, but the seamstress came and undid them for her. "This wedding is doomed…" she sighed, shaking her head, but it was doomed before this moment. It was doomed a week before.


	5. Chapter 5

_AN: Hey, I'm sorry I didn't realize how incredibly short my chapters were. They seem so much longer on word…anyway, I'll make them longer, I promise. Also, where did my readers go? I'm so sad. You were all making me so happy reviewing all the time, and now you've disappeared. __ I Hope you come back soon. _

_The Day of the Wedding…._

"You're just nervous," the attendant, Mary, comforted Christine, cooling her brow with a washcloth.

"Nervous is second thoughts. Nervous is jitters. Nervous is not vomiting all morning."

"Shh…you'll be just fine." She pulled her hair back and began to pin it. She took fresh flowers and put them in alongside. "You're just beautiful…"

Christine looked at her flushed face in the mirror. She didn't feel beautiful. She felt ill. Was it her second thoughts making her feel this way? Was it her secret hope Erik was coming back? He wasn't. She knew better. He had made it very clear to move on with her life.

"Christine, despite your stomach, you're positively glowing!" She began to powder Christine's cheeks. "You are going to be the perfect bride. Don't worry."

"I'm sure you're right…" she sighed, looking at herself once more. She had to get through today. After today she would be the Viscomtess de Chagny. No longer Christine Da'ae.

"Just think, you'll be even more adored and revered than you ever were before." No, just in a different way. As a wife. As royalty. Not as who she was.

"I'll be married…to Raoul…how could I ever ask for more?" but there was such a sadness in her voice. To be a happy bride, her words deceived her.

_In America…_

Erik knew full well what today was. It was the day Christine would belong to Raoul forever. He might have been able to persuade her, but could she have ever been happy with him? He wouldn't have done that to her. Raoul, bastard that he was, would take good care of her. He'd fought to hard to mistreat her. She would be set for life, never want for anything. With him they would have always been on the run, always looking behind their backs, and he couldn't have denied her the life she deserved.

"Look at you, lost in thought," Meg sidled up to him, smiling brightly.

"It's Christine's wedding…" he wasn't sure why he told her the truth.

Meg tried not to puff up too much. She wasn't happy that he still thought of Christine. However, they had only been together a week. He would forget her. He would love her instead. She could be his new prodigy. "Well, then we should be happy. Toast to her and Raoul's happiness. And to ours! Here, we start a new life!"

He nodded, not saying anything.

"C'mon, Erik, you needn't think about anything to do with our old lives. Sure, I would have liked to wish Christine well on her wedding, as well. I mean, after all, we were almost sisters, my mother basically raised us both. I would wish nothing more than to see her happy today, but at least we are here, together." Her face beamed at him. How did she have so much childish innocence? So much happiness still inside of her?

"You're right, Meg." He tried to smile back at her as brightly, but nothing he did was ever truly that bright. "I have a present for you." He pulled from his bag a small bundle of sheet music. It wasn't much, but it was a small token of gratefulness.

"Music! For me?" she grabbed it, reading over it anxiously.

"It's not much…I've only composed just a small amount, but I thought you could use it when you go for those auditions…"

"Oh thank you!" she grabbed him, hugging him tightly. He might as well have given her diamonds and gold.

"Meg!" Madame Giry called out, and Meg let go, standing up, eyes wide.

"Yes mom. Look, Erik gave me something _he composed_ for me to perform!"

"Good, Meg. And I have news too! I have heard of a troop of traveling performers. We are to go to them tomorrow to see if they might be in need of us."

"Oh! Isn't that wonderful Erik?" Meg grabbed his hands in her own. "Oh things in America are so wonderful!"

_In the Church…_

Christine grasped her lilies in her hand, fiddling with her dress with the other hand. The nausea had passed, but the nervousness had not. Any moment now the music would play and she would…

The bridal march began. She took in a deep breath, eyes wide, and walked. She could see a sea of faces she knew and did not. There were so many people, but no where did she see Erik. Her eyes locked with Raoul's. He looked so happy. She knew she looked terrified. There was no reason for her to be, as far as he knew. He could offer her all the comfort in the world, all the love, and the happiness; but he could never offer her the music. Nonetheless, Erik had left her, Raoul had fought for her. She chose long ago, and she had to deal with her choice. She first chose Raoul. She now chose Raoul. She loved him. He loved her, and they would be happy.

Raoul took her hands in his own, beaming. "Dearly beloved we are gathered here…" Christine's head was swimming. She took Raoul's hands in her own, forcing herself to smile. They would be happy. She told herself again and again. They would be happy. He loved her. She loved him. They would be happy.

"And if there are any objections may they speak now or forever hold their peace…" Christine held her breath, but no one said a word. And the moment passed. Her heart sank a little. She'd hoped he'd come, but he hadn't. He was letting her go, and she had to do the same.

_In America…_

Erik tried desperately to tune the piano Madame Giry had found for them to rehearse with. "Meg, just try singing that line again."

"Cute as a button in my polka-dot top. Wanna see more than step right up! I can dance. I can sing. I can do anything! Just try and make me stop!" she screeched the last note, and was flat on a few in between. Erik closed one eye, pretending not to hear her and concentrate on fixing the piano so at least he could play the correct notes and hope for the best.

"Better, Meg, better," Giry smiled. "Just keep working. And we'll work on that choreography once you have the notes down."

"Ok Mama." She walked off, music in hand, singing the lines again and again.

"I know she is not very good now, but she will learn," Giry assured him.

"Sure…" he hit a key to check, it made a jarring noise, and he looked inside the piano once more.

"She is a beautiful dancer. Perhaps until she is better you could just play and she could dance?"

"Sure…"

"Perhaps this troupe will be in need of a strong dancer. She was one of my best ballerinas. You remember how beautifully she can pirouette."

Erik just nodded. He'd never been watching her dance. He'd always been watching Christine. She had outshined Meg in everything she had ever done. Meg was sunny and bright, but not beautiful. She was pretty in her own way, but she wasn't heart-stopping like Christine.

He hit a note again, and it sounded less painfully bad than before. "I think this may be as good as it will get," he sighed.

"Well, Meg, come practice with Erik for a few moments. I will get lunch for us all." Giry disappeared into the other room of the small hotel they had rented for a few days until they knew where they were going.

"This is just so exciting!" Meg beamed, sitting down on the bench next to Erik. "I mean I never dreamed you and I would be working together, like this."

"Me neither." His voice didn't quite hold the enthusiasm hers did.

"But, truthfully, I always wished you'd picked me. I know I can be as good. I can be." Her big blue eyes sparkled at him, looking into his own. "I'll be good for you. See? I'm not afraid…" she reached out and touched his face.

He recoiled, turning back to the music and beginning to play. She looked down, a little shamefully, then stood up and began to sing once more.

He will love me, she thought to herself. One day I will replace her. Christine will only be a distant memory.

_At the wedding…_

"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride." Raoul put his hand on one of Christine's cheeks and pulled her close delving his lips into her own. She kissed back, though not as fervently. Then they released and faced the crowd as they were formally announced and walked out together.

"How does it feel to be the Viscomtess?"

"Amazing." She beamed, and for the first time that day, she let herself be truly happy. It was over. Nothing could be changed. She did love Raoul. And they would be happy. She knew it.

"And what shall your first wish as my wife be?" he grinned.

"Cake," she smiled. "I think first I want cake."

He laughed at her. "I believe there is an order in which cake is not first on the list, but if it is cake you want, then by God, cake you shall receive."

She laughed at him, snuggling close. "I don't need anything. I have you."

"And I have you my little Lottie. I promise to make you feel as happy every day as you do right now."

"Thank you Raoul." There were actually tears in her eyes. "I will do everything in my power to be the greatest wife that has ever been. You deserve it of me."

"Then can I make my request?" he asked, holding her hand tightly.

"Anything, Raoul."

"Be just that. I know I've had you shy away from the stage to concentrate on the wedding, but…I don't want to share you Christine. I don't want to share you with the world. I want you to be Vicomtess of Chagny not Christine Da'ae…I want you here with me, always. Please? Can you do that?"

Christine had felt in her bones he was going to ask it of her. She had known it was coming. Raoul was a sweet man, but jealous. Deep down she knew he secretly was afraid of Erik coming back into their lives if she sang again. Whether she consented or not, he would keep her for his own. So for their happiness, it was best not to resist. "Of course, Raoul. Being your wife will be enough for me."

"Thank you, my love." He kissed the top of her head. "I knew you'd understand. You're just too precious. If anything were to happy to you why I just don't know how I would get on. All I see in my mind is that chandelier crashing down at the opera and think—" he stopped himself. "But no thoughts of bad anymore."

"None," she agreed. Could she live without the music? She supposed she would have to try.


	6. Chapter 6

_AN: Oh guys I'm so sorry! I've been so swamped under and haven't had time to even think let alone write. I'm so happy I have readers again! Your reviews make me smile._

_America…._

"She's not really what we're looking for, but him…" the short black-haired woman narrowed her eyes on Erik, "he is."

"We are a package," Giry sneered at the girl. "you should be so lucky to have such talent in your little freak show."

"Our little _freak show_ rakes in more money per show than you could hope to earn in a year with the little blonde twit singing."

"Come, Meg, we will not tolerate such words from a nothing. She does not know you were the toast of the Paris Opera house." Griy grabbed Meg's arm and began to lead her away.

"Perhaps a bargain could be made," Erik stepped forward, trying to calm the situation. It was true that they were currently making nothing with a half broken piano and Meg, and while Flick, Gangle, and Squelch were nothing in beauty, neither was he. They had an appeal to their act that seemed to draw crowds, perhaps if for no other reason than to gawk at something they did not understand. It made Erik nervous, but they needed the money.

"What type of bargain?"

"You let Meg perform every third show. For now, she dances. I'll play for you every show, and Giry, Meg, and I will share one cut of the profit, as if you were only hiring on one extra person."

Giry narrowed her eyes at Erik, wondering what exactly he was trying to pull, but in truth some money was better than no money. And perhaps a better bargain could be struck over time.

"Deal. You need more exotic names if you're going to work with us, though. Meg and Erik just sound much to bland against Flick, Squelch, and Gangle."

"Just call Meg….beauty, and I'll shorten my last name….from Young to Y."

"Beauty and Mister Y…it'll do. We rehearse in an hour…"

_Paris…_

Christine's mind turned over and over and over. She was late. She was never late. It could only mean one thing, but it was too soon. She and Raoul had only been married a little over a week. "Oh no…" She bit her lip and shook her head. It wasn't possible. It absolutely couldn't be possible.

Her face went deathly pale as the realization set in. "It was one night…one night I wish I could forget…" she closed her eyes, the memory flooding back and bringing tears to her eyes. She was married! She couldn't have another man's child!

"I won't tell him…I can't…" she reassured herself. Keeping the secret would be the only way to keep everyone safe.

"Won't tell me what?" Raoul smiled, walking into her room, a rose in his hand.

"You must stop bringing me gifts. You'll spoil me completely." She stood and kissed his lips, taking the rose from him and placing it on the dressing table.

"Perhaps I want to spoil you." His hand lovingly stroked her back. "What were you mumbling about when I came in?"

"Oh, nothing, just the ramblings of a woman…" she tried to push it off.

"We mustn't keep things from one another, Christine. We are married now." He stroked her hair, separating the curls between his fingers.

"I'm not keeping anything of importance." Boy, what a lie that was. "I have to keep some mystery about me or you'll not want to be around me anymore." She smiled deviously.

"How could I ever not want to be around you, my pet?" He kissed her forehead, grinning. "I want to be more than around you." His hands slipped down to her buttocks, grasping it firmly.

"Raoul!" she blushed, burying her head into his chest.

"You're my wife. I can be fresh with you."

"In broad daylight? What if someone were to walk past?" she moved away, hoping he wouldn't touch her again. It was unsettling to her at the moment.

"Christine, something is bothering you. I can see it all over your face…"

It was too soon. She couldn't tell him. She needed to wait, see if time proved her fears wrong, if an examination could be performed and confirm or deny her fears. "It's nothing, really."

"You look pale my dear. Is it your stomach again? You've been ill quite frequently."

"I think it's just an adjustment to life in new surroundings. Not that this isn't everything I could wish, Raoul," she reassured.

"Of course, dear. I understand. But if you still feel ill we should call a physician to come inspect you. Wedding nerves are one thing, but sickness is quite another."

"I think a trip to the doctor is not entirely a bad idea," she agreed, hoping it would quell her fears. And though they had been married such a short time, who was to say if it were true that the child were not Raoul's? Who was to say it had not been wedding jitters that had caused her nausea and fainting? Who was to say she was even with child? She surely hoped she was not.

_America…_

"Beauty, you are a good dancer, but maybe you could…" Squelch trailed off.

"Show some skin for Christ's sake!" Flick came in behind, having no shame in saying so.

Meg looked to her mother with innocent eyes, who turned up her nose in disgust and horror at the suggestion.

"I'm sure it would bring the crowds…look at a pretty girl as well as unusual persons…" Erik was trying to sound encouraging. They needed the money desperately. Wearing something a little revealing wouldn't be too horrible, just enough to bring people in. The little money they had scraped up and brought with them to America was fast dwindling. They needed to keep this job unless they could find another. The troupe had been welcoming enough to let them join, all three of them. Meg was getting to perform. He was getting to compose, not in the way he had before, trifling fair-style music, but composing nonetheless, and Giry was getting to oversee it all just as she had at the Opera House. It was a good fit, and something as meaningless as making her outfit a little more revealing seemed a fair enough trade.

"Alright, Erik," Meg smiled, and glanced back at her mother, "We'll alter some of my dresses, shorten them, make them off the shoulder, lower cut, something."

"Do the routine you showed me, without singing, and have the costume ready by tomorrow. We go on at ten." Flick was very short with the young girl, but Meg could be a bit of a handful, especially with her greedy mother behind her.

"Meg, this is a big step. You'll be performing tomorrow. Not singing, not yet, but we're one step closer. Erik will play beautifully for you. Won't you Erik?"

"Yes Madame," he nodded dryly. They needed the money. He would keep composing this vaudeville trash they'd asked of him because they needed the money. He could do this. He could start his life over without Christine. He had to.

"Oh! Isn't this exciting! It's almost as good as being back in Paris! Just think of all the people who'll show up, come to watch us, you and me, a team." Meg sparkled, grabbing onto his arm, but Erik just nodded, lost in thought.

"Come along, Meg, we have to ready your dress." She sighed, and glanced back at him to see if any sign of affection crossed his face. It stayed black, pale, masked, and she obediently went back inside with her mother.

_Paris…several days later…_

"Viscountess, though I cannot tell you with one hundred percent certainty, I would say with all you describe your suspicions are correct." The doctor smiled at her. "And how fortunate to have conceived so quickly after your marriage!"

"Fortunate…" she repeated, swallowing down the lump in her throat.

"Congratulations to you and your husband. Would you like me to share the news with him or would you rather do it privately yourself?"

"Oh, please, let me tell him." Do I have to? She thought, but did not say it aloud.

"So clearly you are not very far along, which is why I say mostly I cannot tell you with certainty. However, most often all of these indicate a woman is with child, and when examining your cervix I would say it also showed signs indicating that as well."

"Thank you," she nodded, trying to force a smile on her face, and then she asked the question bearing down so heavily on her. "There's no way to tell the exact date of conception, is there?"

He laughed. "No, no, of course not. We can only guess the approximate time, which for you would have had to have been your wedding night to see symptoms so soon. We can only guess from there and estimate the birth."

"Oh, thank you. I'm sorry I've never experienced all of this before." Well if a precise date could not be made, then perhaps she could simply convince herself it was Raoul's after all. Who was to say it wasn't? Besides that sinking feeling inside of her…

The doctor opened the door, and Raoul rushed too her, a worried look in his eyes. "Are you alright, darling?"

"Yes," she nodded, "Doctor Chamblis assures me I am quite fine."

He wrapped an arm around her, escorting her to the carriage. "You're sure? You still look a little pale."

She supposed there was no time like the present… "There's nothing _wrong_ with me, but there is something…"

"Something?"

"Raoul…I'm with child…" she closed her eyes a moment, bracing herself for the reaction. It was pure joy, to her surprise. He scooped her into his arms and twirled her around, grinning from ear to ear.

"Christine! How marvelous! How unexpected!" She smiled in return, actually feeling happy about it for the first time. "How soon! The wedding night must have been more magical than I first realized." He laughed, and she blushed; then they embraced, his lips touching her own.

"Please, don't tell anyone yet, it's so very early. There are so many things that can go wrong early. Let's just keep it to ourselves a little while. Alright?" Because if by some chance Erik was still around and caught wind, her life would be over. She hated thinking this child was his, and he might never know. It hurt her heart a little, but she had to protect her child and her marriage.

"Of course, darling. Anything for you and our child…"


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Ok, it's gonn start getting a little rough around the edges again. There's a reason this has an R/Mature rating.

_New York, four months later…_

"We've been performing here for weeks now. Why did no one care before now about our presence?" Giry griped, hands on her hips.

"We'll just have to have a solution. People expect the show…" Flick agreed.

"We'll buy it, then." Erik said with certainty.

"What?" they all turned to him as if he'd gone mad.

"We each have a bit saved up. We'll put it down as a down payment and see how much more he would require. I will speak with him directly. This pier, this spot, this island, it's where people have come to expect us. Just think, maybe if we could own it we could expand, make a whole park out of Coney Island, a place people could come and enjoy the show, maybe other things too."

"First let's see how deeply this will affect our pockets," Giry chided.

"I've spoken to Mister Winthrop before…" Meg spoke up. "Perhaps if I went to him and asked…" They all looked at her as if she were useful for the first time in her life.

_Two Weeks Earlier…_

"_Well, it's not wonder they call you beauty," a tall man in a full suit approached Meg, powdering her face after a show just behind the tent. _

"_Oh!" she looked up blushing. "Thank you sir."_

"_But your name...?"_

"_Meg, Meg Giry." She stood, smiling all the while._

"_A plesure, Meg," he took her hand and kissed it. No one ever treated her so sweetly. It made her blush deepen. "I am George Winthrop. I own this little piece of heaven you and your friends have been performing on for some time."_

"_Oh! Is that a problem? We meant no harm. It just seems like such a fantastic place for performances, the open air, the sea…"_

"_I'll make you a deal. You keep performing if you go out to dinner with me."_

"_Dinner? Oh that sounds like a lovely agreement." He took her hand once more. "Where do you live? I shall pick you up at seven o'clock sharp…"_

"Meg, why would you keep such a thing?" Giry spat at her, grasping her wrist as if disciplining a child.

"He was just someone nice who came to see the show. I had no idea he would try to stop us from performing here…" She wondered if it had been because of refusing his advances toward her. Though he was very nice and wealthy, she only really had one man she wanted to please, Erik.

"Thank you, Meg. Perhaps if you come with me we can together strike a bargin with him. We shall go first thing in the morning."

_Paris…_

Christine sat at her dressing table, writing the same note she'd written a hundred times over. She knew she'd never send it, even if she had an address. Every time she wrote it and burned it. She'd have to give up this game at some point in time, but she just felt like crying constantly.

"Christine…"

"Raoul!" she crumpled the letter and threw it inside the drawer. "You didn't come home last night. I was worried…" she smelled the whiskey on his breath. It was becoming a common occurrence. She didn't blame him. She didn't want to be around herself either.

He dove his lips into hers, shoving the door shut with one hand while he grasped her face with the other. His grip was far too tight, and she tried to wriggle out of it. He grasped her back with the other hand, now free, to hold her in place.

In a moment she broke free, panting. "Raoul! Please!"

"You haven't let me touch you…we were barely married when it started to grow within you and you became squeamish to me. At first, I agreed. No harm should come to it, but time has passed, you are just fine. You are _my wife_ Christine!"

"Raoul please, don't scream. Someone will hear." She tried to reach a hand up to him, but he swatted it away, shoving her backward onto the bed. "Raoul!"

"Don't scream? I'll make you scream." He tore at her dress, ripping a piece of the lace off.

"Don't, please…" she moved backward, trying to get away, but he pinned her with one hand while fiddling with his pants with the other.

"You're my wife, Christine. You should start to behave like a wife ought." He flung his pants to the ground and pushed up her skirts. Without so much as a glance at her, Raoul removed her undergarments and inserted himself into her. He thrust hard against her, ignoring the look of pain across her face. He steadied himself with one hand on her shoulder, to keep her fully pinned. Slight whimpers escaped her lips, but she was too afraid to scream.

He gripped her shoulder roughly as he came inside of her, then rolled over next to her and closed his eyes. Christine lay deathly still for a long time wondering if he had passed out, if it was safe to move, if he would hurt her should she try to. It felt like years laying beside her husband as she listened so carefully to his breathing, trying to decipher if sleep had come upon him, or if he had merely exhausted himself from her anguish. At last a sort of snore escaped his lips, and she moved slowly, quietly to change out of the now ripped and stained dress. She laid a cover over his naked bottom, folded the pants on the dresser, and went into the bathroom to clean herself and weep.

_New York…_

"I'm glad you changed your mind about coming out with me tonight…" Winthrop smiled.

"You gave me little choice. You want us gone. I thought we had an arrangement."

"Well you didn't fulfill your half of the bargain." He smirked, taking a long sip of his champagne.

"You said I had to go to dinner with you…." She glared at him. "I went to dinner. We had lovely conversation. I came to a few dinners…"

"A dinner date does not end once the check is paid my young dear. You are so innocent and beautiful. That blond head is still full of dreams. I'd like to share them with you, Meg."

"So you hurt the people I love to get me to like you? That's not a very good tactic, Mr. Winthrop."

"I just needed to get your attention, Meg. You could be so much more than an unknown sideshow member on Coney Island. I could make you a star…" She wasn't sure she wanted to be a star unless it was by Erik's hand. Everything she did was only for him.

"They are like family to me, Mr. Winthrop. I cannot leave them. I can however help them gain what the want most in this world, a place to call their own…"

"Very well, I will meet with this Mr. Y tomorrow morning, see what he has to offer. Things might go well for him if you were to finish out the night with me…" Meg swallowed down the lump in her throat when he said those words.

"Might?"

"Stay with me, Meg. Come stay with me. I promise all you've ever asked for."

"I ask only that you help my friends."

"Then stay with me and your wish will be granted." She looked down into her lap, a silent consensus. "Put this on my tab," he said to the waiter, catching him by the arm. The man nodded, continuing on his way to wherever he had been going before.

"Come, Meg." He grabbed her by the hand and led her outside where they walked the half a block to his large apartment only half a block up the street. His hand roved down her back as they walked, letting himself cup her bottom. She didn't flinch, only inwardly cringed. She was doing this for Erik. She was doing this for Erik. She was doing this for Erik.

_Paris…_

Christine stared at her sleeping husband, wondering if he would even remember what he had done when he awoke. She rocked in the rocking chair they had bought for the baby. It was comforting in some way. Her hand rested lightly on her stomach as she rocked. She could feel the baby moving inside of her. He seemed to be more awake later in the day.

"Christine?" Raoul's groggy voice called out, one eye opening. "Chri-istine?"

"Yes Raoul," she rose obediently , eyes downcast.

"I have a spshlitting headache. Get me a tonic, dear." She walked out of the room wanting nothing more than to slam the door so his head might hurt worse, but she didn't. She held her temper.

"You married him, Christine…" she told herself, but he hadn't been this way before. At least, she'd never seen this side of him before.

_New York…_

"No, I haven't…" Meg bit down on her lip.

"A pretty thing like you? You must be…twenty?"

"Twenty two."

"Never touched one?" he grabbed her hand and made her fingers clasp around his penis.

"No," she looked away, her voice squeaking a little. This is for Erik. It's for Erik.

"Well, now you have…" he smirked, kissing her cheek, then down her neck. She closed her eyes and tried not to breathe hard. "Relax, darling. It'll be easier if you do."

Easier, hah. She doubted anything would make this easier.

"Have a drink," he gave her earlobe a quick tug with his teeth before moving pantless across the room and pouring both he and she a glass of gin. "Here, it'll loosen you up."

She took it, taking a sip and recoiling to the taste.

"Take it you've never had that either."

"No, only wine, and well since you, champagne."

"It's an acquired taste, but it will make you more comfortable. Drink up." He tipped his glass back and watched her do the same before grabbing her round the waist. It was slender and fit, young and desirable. He delved his tongue into her mouth, and she did not resist. However, she also did not reciprocate. She felt her head go a little woozy when he dipped her back and placed her on the bed. She was afraid.

He carefully picked open each button of her blouse and slid her skirt to the floor. Then he began undoing her corset with such ease she was quite sure this was not his first time undressing a woman. She laid stock still as he undressed her, kissing her neck and chest. Once exposing her breasts he sucked her nipples, making a chill run down her spine. As uncomfortable as she was, the feeling was not unpleasant altogether. His hand ran down between her legs, probing at her with his fingers.

She gasped, bright blue innocent eyes wide as they could go. The two fingers he shoved inside her were quite painful.

"Easy, darling, easy," he cooed in her ear, nuzzling into her blonde curls.

His hand backed out, and she closed her eyes. He shoved himself inside of her, and she couldn't help but cry out in pain. It was much more uncomfortable than his fingers had been. He thrust once, and she gripped the sheet. He thrust again, harder, and she felt the blood running from her hands as she gripped tighter and tighter. Again, and again, and she tried desperately not to scream. She felt hot liquid inside of her and assumed he was done, but he continued on. She then realized it was coming from inside of her. Blood gushed out onto the sheets as he pushed harder and harder then finally made a half-moan and released inside of her. He rolled over next to her on the bed, wiping himself off on the linens.

She stared at the ceiling mortified, and didn't dare to move. She had never felt so degraded in her life as she did in that moment, to lay in her own blood, helpless. When his breathing slowed she stood and made her way to the bathroom, stepping into the shower and letting it run over her. She tried to scrub the smell out of her, but it reeked of his scent. Everything smelled like sex and blood and gin.

She put back on her clothes and looked at him again with disgust before walking out the door. It was for Erik. It was for Mama. They would have a place of their own now. Now they could have their new dreams here in America.

She walked silently back home, tears streaming down her face. She still felt him on her, inside of her. It was like reliving a nightmare again and again. In the morning it would seem better. It had to.

She walked up the stairs to their apartment, and slid in the door expecting them all to be asleep. The quiet sound of light fingers on a piano echoed in the hall. Meg tiptoed down the hallway, standing unnoticed just outside Erik's door as music flowed out, beautiful, transfixing music.

He began to sing lightly, "Love never fails….love never alters…hearts may get broken, love endures…" For a moment Meg almost believed he was writing for her, but then his hands crashed down on the piano, huffing. "She's gone! Forget Christine!" a shuddered breath of held back tears emitted from the room. "But she'll never be gone to me…"

Meg held in her breath so as not to scream. She ran into her and her mother's room, and shut the door, sobbing once more.

"Meg?" a half-awake Giry called out.

She did not respond, but just curled further up into her fetal position, holding her knees tightly.

"Meg. What is the matter?"

"He will never love me. I do all I can! I do so much he doesn't know—"

"Meg, child," Giry stood and took her in her arms. "He needs time my dear. He has warmed to you. And when you help him with negotiating Coney he will adore you all the more. He has been composing…"

"For Christine! He is composing for a ghost, Mother!"

"She is still real to him. The wounds are fresh. He will heal and lean on you, my dear. We have never turned our backs on him. He will repay us as his family." Giry stroked Meg's hair. "We are all he has now. He will come to see that soon enough."

_Morning…_

"I'm sorry I just don't think the amount is sufficient, even for a down payment."

"But what about—" Meg stopped herself. She couldn't say anything about the night before, not in front of Erik.

"What on earth do you want with that place? It's a dump, a nothing. There are just unused plots of land and a beach no one comes to. You're making no profit from it. Let us pay you this now and installments here forth."

"It would need to be some sum in order to go ahead with this tiring wager."

"Tiring? Tiring! You know what is truly tiring?" Meg saw Erik's anger begin to swell. He had seemed to calm since coming to America, but he seemed to be getting his footing once more. For the first time in a long time she was not in the room with Erik Young but rather the horrifying Phantom of the Opera. "You! Your insolence! If you knew who I really was!"

"And who are you exactly?" Winthrop's eyes narrowed on him.

"I am Mister Y, and I am to be respected and feared. Now I know you think you have the upper hand here, but I assure you sir there are people who would tremble to be in your position."

"Truly?" he smirked.

"Perhaps another wager could be made?" Meg spoke up.

"What sort of wager?" he said, a glint of malice in his eyes.

"Free _shows_ for you. Whenever you like." Meg tried to make it sound legitimate without insinuating to anyone besides Winthrop her true meaning.

"With full access to the cast?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Full is a loaded term," Erik corrected.

"To me." Meg corrected. "…to me…"

"What do you want with her?" Erik questioned. There was a hint of protectiveness in his voice, and it made Meg's heart sore.

"Just to expose her to the finer things in life. Dinners, like before, right Meg?"

"Right. He…is lonely. He wants company."

"And you will agree to the deal as discussed?"

"Yes, I will."

"Then sign," Erik shoved a document and pen toward Winthrop who gladly penned his name, grinning all the while.


	8. Chapter 8

_AN: _Oh I'm a bad person. I'm so sorry life caught up to me and I did what I yell at other writers for doing STOPPED WRITING. So, I'm really sorry I left you all hanging. Anyone who is reading, thank you. And those who are reviewing, thank you more! I'm doing my best, and though I love doing this for me, I love sharing it too.

Ch. 8

_Paris…._

Christine powdered her neck, trying to cover the bruise ringed around it. Raoul could be such a caring, loving man, but when he was drunk…

"Christine what on earth is that?" Raoul asked, noticing the bruise.

"A necklace. It…discolored my neck."

"Which one? I'll throw it in the face of whoever sold it to you!" He was well meaning, but how could she tell him that he had done it in a drunken rage?

"I…gave it to one of the servants. She admired it so, and it was doing me no good." She tried to smile, feigning love for him. The little life moved within her. She would do anything and everything to protect her baby, make sure it was raised in a loving environment, and keep it away from Raoul if ever he was drinking….

"Fools of this world don't they know who I am? I am the Viscount de Chagny. How dare they try to swindle me. Why if I knew who had done that to me, robbed me, I would kill them."

"Raoul!" Christine rose, eyes flashing in fear. "It's just a necklace…"

"Yes…." He stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Just a necklace…" He swung, glancing back at Christine. "I'm going out."

"But Raoul please…it's still morning…"

"Don't chide me. I need a drink." He stormed out the room, leaving Christine in awe of what she could have possibly said to make the situation better. She tried so hard to love him, but it had become harder and harder.

Raoul stomped down the stairs and threw on a coat, going out into the midmorning sun. He shielded his eyes, huffing in the cool morning air. He ducked into the first pub on his way and sat down at the bar.

"Early start hmm?" the bartender smiled.

"Whiskey. Neat."

"Bad day?" he dried off a glass with the towel round his waist then began to pour the drink.

"Bad lifetime, apparently."

"Well, we'll help you out, at least for a while." The brown liquid dropped into the glass, wetting Raoul's appetite. He glared at the stuff the way he used to look at Christine, ravenously hungering for it. The bartended slid it to him, and he gulped it down, eyes watering and throat burning. He needed it.

"Another."

"Really bad day?" The bartender chuckled, pouring another one for him.

"My wife…she's pregnant." He drank this one a bit slower, taking a long gulp but not downing the glass.

"Ah. Substitution. You are not the first of last to do it."

"Yeah…." He finished, sliding the glass back. "Another."

"You're making my job too easy. Gotta slow it down, let me earn my keep."

Raoul's angry eyes glared, unsmiling, "Another."

He poured it, handing it over, and watching Raoul take it as if it were mother's milk. It was more than a substitute for sex. "She got moods too? That why you're upset?"

"I am not upset," Raoul took this drink more slowly, sipping it, savoring it.

"So if it's not that…"

"She wasn't a virgin…" The bartender stopped in his tracks, looking at the man. It wasn't very often that someone made that sort of confession to him. "I never pushed her, saved that moment for our wedding. She's a gentle girl, beautiful, and she was so innocent. Until him…" he teeth gritted and hand tightened on the glass.

"Someone else while you were together?"

"She was terrified of him. We hid our engagement because of him. She was always afraid of what he would think, say, do. But I won her fair and square, she picked me. I just think it was too late. I didn't save her from him fast enough. He took it. HE TOOK WHAT WAS MINE!"

The bartender silently topped off the Whiskey, looking at the man with sad eyes.

"But the baby is mine…he has to be…" He looked up from the glass. "Life isn't so cruel. It couldn't be. To take her then my child? To bring _his _child into this world? Life could not be that awful. To raise a child not my own? Yet as I watch her grow, I look on her with disgust knowing, feeling it is not me but him growing inside of her. I should be ecstatic. I should be over the moon. I should be showering her with love and affection and feeling the little life move inside of her, but every time I see her I want to throw her down a flight of stairs because I feel his presence in our house. I won her, but he took her from me…" He threw his head back, downing the glass once more. "Another."

_New York…_

Erik silently plunked on the piano as the rest of the gang ran rehearsal. He was just the background accompaniment, after all. He had slowly withdrawn more and more, taking to wearing a full face mask and black suit, hunching over the piano so no one would pay attention to him in the back. It worried Giry that he was regressing. It made her fearful of what might happen next. She had seen this happen once before, and it had not ended well.

"No! No no no!" Female voices screamed at one another.

He stood up, towering over Fleck and Meg. "If the two of you can't work together then don't! I have better things to do with my time than listen to the two of you bicker and argue. So either deal with one another or leave. I don't care. I can do this with or without you."

They both stared at him bewildered. "I started all of this! I run this!" Fleck yelled back. "You were just some sideshow freak with a fucked up face and piano before me."

"Don't you_ ever_ speak to me that way! I am your master! I_ own you_. It is _my_ money that bought this place. It is _my_ talent that has brought the crowds. And it is _my _plans that are going to turn this into more than just a freak show. You are disposable. I am not. And I promise if you ever speak to me that way again, you will be disposed of." He turned, angrily moving toward the little trailer, and slamming the door behind him.

Giry's breath caught in her throat. "Oh God…he's back…"

_Paris…_

Christine was pacing the floor by the time Raoul arrived home. It was past dinner, and she'd had no heart to eat. He worried her when he was gone for this long. It worried her more that she knew where he was and what condition he would come home in.

"Get your hands off of me!" she could hear him screaming from down the stairs. He body shuddered and she braced herself.

"Christine! Christine!" she rushed out of her bedroom and saw Raoul trying to make his way up the stairs unsuccessfully, stumbling and falling all the while.

She ran to him, trying to help him, but he was dead weight. "Ruth! Ruth come help!"

"No! Only you! You are my _wife_ and you should help me!" She continued to try, both of them stumbling. She tried to lean him against the rail as she walked with him, one arm over her shoulder.

"Raoul. Raoul this isn't good for the baby."

"The baby! The baby the baby! I'm your husband. I am more important in your life!"

"But Raoul…"

"Don't but! I am _your husband_. I come first in your life. Do I need to show you that?" He shoved her off of him, causing Christine to topple, falling only a few stairs down but still enough to hurt her back and leave her reeling. She cried out in pain, in fear for her child's life. "Oh please someone help me!" she clutched her stomach. It hurt. She looked down at there was blood on her nightgown.

"Christine!" Raoul suddenly realized what he had done. "Christine!" He came down to her, holding her to him. "Oh God Christine I'm sorry! I would never hurt you! Help! Someone call a doctor quickly! She's bleeding."

"The baby…" she whimpered, the world going black around her.


	9. Chapter 9

AN: Yay! You're all in suspense. I love that ability! And I'm a horrible person for making you wait. I'm sorry. Life gets in my way of writing….but you're all making me smile with your reviews, so thank you!

_Paris…_

"It's too soon…" Christine wept, grasping her stomach.

"Christine, I need you to calm down," the midwife said, bathing her forehead.

"Will she be alright?" Raoul's head popped back in the room.

"You! Out!" the midwife pushed the door closed once more.

"Will I?" Christine's wide eyes traced the midwife's face for any sign of an answer.

"You'll be fine, but the fall made you go into labor prematurely. It broke your water. You have no choice but to push and hope for the best."

"No! It's too soon!" Christine wailed. "I can't!"

"You have to." She smoothed the wet hair back from her brow, and cooed to her. "You have to for you and your baby."

_New York…_

"No! No! No! You're doing it all wrong!" Erik screamed at the building crew who had begun putting up the permanent stage.

"It needs to be larger, grander! Have you never seen the stage for an Opera?"

"Opera? Listen guy, we do what's on the plans, and the plans say do it likes this."

"It needs to be made ready in case—" he stopped himself short. "Just do as I say!"

"Damn, what's got his knickers in a twist?" the workers laughed amongst themselves.

"Never," Erik began, his chest puffing, his voice raising, "NEVER! Insult me! Or you will wish you were never born." His eyes held an intensity that could scare the toughest of hardened criminals. The workers were nearly trembling. "Do you understand?"

"Yes…" one whimpered.

He took a step forward. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

"Yes!"

"Good. Remember this moment, and do my job right." He turned on his heels, still flaming in anger, and stormed into the trailer.

"What ingrates! Why did we hire such imbeciles to do the work on this place?"

"Erik, calm yourself," Giry chided.

"Don't call me by that name! I'm not that person anymore."

"Fine, I shan't call you anything," she spun from him, making him a drink. "Here," she thrust it at him, "Calm yourself."

"Thank you, Giry." He took a long slug.

"You're getting too wound up about little things. This place is going up so fast. We're doing well."

"Not well enough." He took another gulp, then put it back down, the ice clinking in the glass.

"Patience."

"Is not a virtue I posses. Where is Meg?" he looked about, not hearing the girl's chattering.

"Out. With one of her suitors."

"She spends too much time with them. She should be rehearsing. Her act is a travesty!" Meg stopped in her tracks just outside of the door, his words flowing through the window and into her heartbroken ears.

"She is doing her best."

"It's not good enough. It's bad enough all she can do is this vaudeville trash. It's worse she does it so poorly."

"She is doing all she can for _you_!"

"Then she should do better." He turned, flinging the door open, and passed her coolly, never even glancing her way.

_Paris…_

Christine let out an anguished scream.

"Good, Christine, I can see the baby's head." The midwife placed another cool cloth on her head. "Just push a few more times, and you'll have a little boy or girl."

She screamed again, pushing with all her mite, and slowly appeared from her a head covered with dark curls. She pushed again, the shoulders emerging, and the midwife was able to ease the baby out. She cut the cord, cleared his airways, and wiped the child off.

Christine held her breath. There was no cry.

"My baby…" she whimpered, barely able to lift her head, holding out her arms.

"It's a boy." The midwife smiled, patting his back to see if it would clear his airway and make him cry. The child let out an enormous gasp then began screaming at the top of his lungs. She wrapped him up tight in a towel and handed him to Christine.

"Congratulations, Mama." Christine looked him over, ten fingers, ten toes, a head full of hair, eyes, nose, mouth, all where they should be. On all accounts he looked perfect, early or not. She often forgot he was over a week farther along than she was charted. He was so beautiful. Instantly, she had fallen in love.

While admiring her little boy she'd not even noticed the midwife move away, exit the room, and Raoul enter. Her marveled a moment at the beauty of the pair. Christine, glistening with sweat, rosey cheeked, beautiful, and holding the little boy all wrapped up tightly pressed against her breast. "What a handsome family I have…."

"Raoul." She looked up, smiling. She couldn't even be the least upset at him. She could hardly feel anything but elation. "Meet Gustave."

"Ah, a name. I think it fitting. Hello, Gustave, you're a very brave boy." He touched his son's hand, and the little child wrapped all his finges around Raoul's one. Raoul too fell in love with the child. For a moment he even forgot it was not his own.

_New York…_

Something had been troubling Erik all day. He couldn't put his finger on it. It was true, everything was going swimmingly, but he just had this feeling in the pit of his chest that he could not shake. He couldn't get Christine out of his mind.

He slammed his hands against the piano causing a cacophony of noise. Why did she still haunt him so? It had been months since he'd seen her face, touched her perfect skin, pressed his lips to her own…yet she haunted him. Every night she filled his dreams. Every day she filled his mind. And today especially he could not get past a feeling something was happening to her. He hoped that it was just a feeling…that nothing was wrong. To get word that Christine were ill or worse….gone…might drive him to….

He hit the keys again, standing up, walking away. He was shaking it was hurting him so. Why had he walked away? Why had he left her there, so perfect, so pale and gorgeous in the moonlight? She might have stayed…they might have hidden away together…

It was wishful thinking he knew, and useless since he had made his choice. He was here. She was in Paris with Raoul, living a happily married life of decadence and opulence. Raoul could take care of anything she needed. He knew it. But he could never replace him in her heart. Erik knew that no matter how much time passed the feelings he stirred within Christine could never be squelched.

He went into town often, read the papers, to see if perhaps she were performing again. He never heard one word about her. It did not really surprise him that she had not returned to the stage. Raoul had always felt threatened by the music, and he was quite sure that he would keep her away as long as he could. However, no one could keep Christine Da'ae caged forever.

He thought if he could only make them build faster then perhaps he could entice her to America, to sing. If she read the music, its beauty, she could not refuse him. She had a deep connection to his pieces, and he knew it. He planned to use it to his advantage. He would have Christine back.

_Paris…_

Rauol sat across the room and watched as Christine nursed the beautiful child. He knew it would be some time before he could touch Christine again, but her exposed breast, the child suckling it, brought forth a deep need inside of him. He wished it were he who was suckling her breast.

Christine paid no attention to Raoul in the least, staring her down like meat. All her attention was focused on this little life, tugging at her. She was so enraptured with the child. She simply could not seem to break the spell, nor did she want to. She began humming lightly, rocking him just slightly as he suckled. He would have music, so much music, in his life. How could he not? He had it in his veins.

Her finger brushed his face, so perfect, so lovely. He had not a blemish on it. No mask would cover it as his father. Yet she knew his origins just the same. When the baby's eyes looked into her own…she saw Erik. His eyes seemed to scream her secret. She wondered if anyone else would see them as well.

His little tufts of soft brown hair stuck up on his head, and she wetted her fingers and smoothed them down. He was such a handsome child, with so many of her features. And despite the fact that he was a full month early (or month and a half by anyone's standards but her own) everything on him seemed to be perfectly formed. He had ten perfect little fingers and ten perfect little toes, and everything else a little boy should have. Somehow she had known it would be a boy when she felt the little life stir in her. She had felt him and known him even before he was here in her arms. But now that he was she would never let him go. He was her treasure, and no one, especially Raoul could take him from her.

_New York…_

"I'm going. There's no reason to stay!" Meg threw more of her things into a carpet bag.

"Something is troubling him. It's not you. He's snapping at everyone!" Giry took things out as quickly as Meg could put them in.

"I've done e_verything_ for him. It's _all_ been for him! I don't love those horrid men! I don't want to be with them! I do it for _him!_ I pushed the permit through! I am the one who raised most of the money! He has no idea what this place is costing! He only _thinks…..!_"

Giry grasped her daughter's hands. "And you are not to tell him. If you ever want him to appreciate you you cannot throw that into his face. We will get our dues. We will get what we deserve. He just needs a little time. The stress of it all is too much for him. It's making him snap. Don't let his cruel tone fool you. He _needs_ you."

Meg took a deep breath, looking into her mother's eyes. "He needs me…" she repeated.

"Yes, _he needs you_. You are all that can make this place run. Those silly freak show acts cannot produce a crowd. Your beauty, your voice, your talent, is all that will make this place run. He _needs_ you."

Meg sat down on the bed, head bobbling slightly, thinking her mother's words over. "And he'll see it…once we're open…"

"Yes, he'll see that he cannot go on without you. He'll see you bring in the crowds. He'll see how much they all adore you."

"But I'll be dancing only for him."

"Right. And when he sees he'll be so impressed, he'll know you're all that he needs, Meg."

She nodded, looking out across the floor. "Ok Mama. He'll see it. He needs me."

_Paris…_

"He needs me!" Christine grasped for her son being toted away by a nursemaid.

"Bridgette will take excellent care of him, Darling." Raoul petted her head, sitting down in bed beside her.

"He's my son! He needs me!"

"And you need to rest!" It wasn't a suggestion, and Christine knew it. Gustave was sleeping soundly, and granted, she had not slept since giving birth to her beautiful baby boy. She suddenly realized exhaustion sinking into her.

"Yes…I should sleep…but if he cries, if he's hungry, she'll bring him to me?"

"Yes of course," he kissed her forehead and watched her drift into slumber. He smiled sadly at the woman. He did love her. That was not a lie. He had loved her since they were children, but here she laid and he wanted to lay hands on her. Stone cold sober, and he wanted to choke the life out of her. She'd betrayed him, and brought a life not of his seed into this world. And she loved it far more than she loved him. The jealousy was almost more than he could take.

He stood, walking into the nursery and took the boy from the nursemaid, thanking her, and asking her to wait outside while he stayed with his son.

'Well, Gustave, what shall we do with you?" he asked the little boy who seemed to smile up at him, tugging at his heart-strings. He did not want to love the child, but he did. The boy was infectious.

He cooed up at his father, the only father Raoul assumed he would ever know. "I suppose we should go along with it, hmm? You are as much _my_ son as anyone else's. I know. I'm quite sure your mother knows, but…who else could ever tell? I shall raise you to be the son I should have had. And try not to favor your brothers and sisters as they come along. Shall we call that a deal?" The little boy gurgled. "I shall take that as your word then. You shall be my son, and I your father. That is all there is to it. Your mother would never betray either of us. We are a family now. We shall remain one…"


	10. Chapter 10

An: I know you all think I have abandoned you. I SWEAR I have not! I'm in my final semester of college, and, well, it's hard. It sucks. But…when I was on Spring Break I went to see the filmed version of Love Never Dies. And while it's not the London version we all know and love, it reinspired me and made me say "hey, lady, you got people waiting on you." So here I am! Anyone who's seen the remake / movie, feel free to comment on that as well as the actual material I'm writing. Love you all and thank you for your devotion.

_Paris…_

Gustave was a happy baby. He hardly ever cried. Instead he cooed up at his parents and seemed to have a sing-song way of making noises and communicating. All those who worked in the house counted him a joy to be around. "That is the happiest child I've ever encountered," they would all say time and time again. And it made Christine's heart swell with love and pride.

Every time she rocked him in her arms, singing him little strands of music from a time gone by he seemed to light up and smile at her, as if he felt the music in his blood just as strongly as she or Erik ever had. She swore he almost sang along with her even though he was only a few months old.

Raoul couldn't help but remark that the child was indeed a sight to behold. His little brunette curls were handsome, more handsome than any child's he'd ever seen. His green eyes flashed brightly all the time, as if taking in every bit of the world that surrounded him. And to see the way he looked at Christine when she sang to him…the child was enraptured with her voice.

He remembered a time when he had been as well. The more days that passed, the more Christine seemed to care more and more for Gustave and less and less for anything else. Raoul tried so desperately not to let the jealousy of it consume him. "She loves him more than me…" he mumbled over a glass of scotch.

"She's a woman. He's her child. The newness will wear off, and while she'll always love him, not more than you. Let her glow a bit longer," said the bartender, refilling it for the third time.

"It's not right. The doctor says he's fine, and she's fine. Everything is as it once was, except…she won't let them return that way…"

"Pardon if I overstep Viscount, but ain't that your place?" the bartender raised a brow.

"Yes, yes I suppose it is," Raoul agreed, shoot back the last glass and laying coins down for the man before scampering off out of the bar, towards home.

When he reached it, Christine was lying on the bed, resting after putting Gustave down for a nap. He climbed in next to her and traced her shoulder and back with his fingertips. Her eyes opened, and she smiled at him. "Raoul. I thought you'd be gone a bit longer."

"I missed my wife," he said, letting his hand begin to drift down to her hip.

Her eyes opened wide, and she smelled the alcohol on his breath. "Raoul. It's the middle of the afternoon…"

"I can't miss my wife in the middle of the afternoon?" he asked, in a slightly more stern tone.

"Well, of course you can miss me, dear." She took his hand which had rested itself upon her rump and held it in her own, kissing his fingers. "I miss you too when you're away."

"I've missed you so long, Christine…" he drew closer to her, and tried to plant a kiss on her lips, but she turned; and he sloppily placed it on her cheekbone.

"Gustave is sleeping right there in his crib…" she said, looking him in the eyes, hoping somehow he'd understand she just wasn't ready yet.

"If that makes you uncomfortable, I'll ring for Isabelle to come take him." Raoul offered.

"No…no…it's just…" she tried to stall.

"The doctor assured us you're perfectly fine, Christine. Since you love Gustave so much, perhaps you'd like to give him a sibling?" he laid his hand on her stomach, then let his fingers drift down lower, and she jerked away from him. She knew what he wanted, but it gave her chills. She was afraid of him. She hated to think she was afraid of her own husband, but she was.

"Of course, but…"

"Shh…" he said, lifting his other hand to her lips and touching them. "Be still, love. Let me remind you what your husband is for…" he drew closer, his breath hot on her neck as he kissed it gently at first, then hungrily. Christine clutched her eyes tight.

'Breathe,' she kept telling herself. 'Just breathe.' She closed her eyes as tight as she could, and tried to just breathe.

_New York…_

"Meg! You're not breathing! Just because you're singing and dancing at once does not mean that you can forget to breathe! It is the essence of both!" Giry called after her as Meg panted.

"Take 5!" Giry screamed, standing up from the Piano and going over to her daughter. "What has gotten into you? I have never seen you seem so out of form before."

"I'm sorry, Mother…" Meg said, shaking her head. "I Just don't feel well. I think I might be coming down with something."

Girl scowled. "We don't have time for you to be sick, Meg. I understand that you cannot help what life puts upon you, but we do not have time. He expects us to have a show up by the end of the month to perform around town to tease the construction of Coney. And we must make a little money to continue its construction. His ridiculous stage demands are pushing the budgets to the limit."

Meg nodded, trying to catch her breath still. "I know. I know. I'm trying my best. I am."

Giry patted her on the back, and stroked her hair. "I know you are, my dear. It will all pay off. It will be better soon." She lifted up Meg's chin and smiled at her, "Go get some water and sit down, breathe for a few minutes. Alright?"

Meg nodded and walked off the practice stage and over to the little bathroom adjacent it. She splashed water on her face, and looked at herself in the mirror. She could swear she looked ten years older than she had six months ago. Suddenly she lurched forward and began to heave into the sink. Her whole face turned as white as a ghost, and as she brought her head back up to look at herself once more, she hardly recognized the face.

"Madame Giry," Fleck approached her, nearly in a whisper.

"Yes Fleck?" Giry asked, curtly.

"Meg isn't well, Madame. Perhaps we should take the rest of the afternoon off. She might need to see a physician…" Giry nodded, worried.

"Tell the other when they return that they should go over their routines before rehearsal tomorrow, but for the time being, I will check on Meg." Giry went into the lavatory, and as she peered in, she saw the pallid Meg curled up on the floor. "Dear God child. You look nearly dead!"

"I don't feel well…" Meg admitted, looking up at her mother.

"We must get you seen about, at once." Giry said, helping her to her feet. "He will have to understand that you being alive is more important than you rehearsing."

_Paris…_

Christine lay on the bed, her wrists pinned by Raoul's hands at either side of her head. She held her eyes closed tight and tried not to gag at the scent of liquor on his breath.

"Open your eyes and look at me, Christine!" he growled at her, and she did. He looked crazed. He looked absolutely mad. "See. You like it. You show me you like it."

She didn't. She didn't know how to show something she couldn't feel. It hurt. The way he pounded into her, clutching her wrists so tightly that her hands began to go numb. It had been this way every day for over a week. It was if he was trying to force another child into her, his child, as if he knew the one in the corner of the room was not.

"Tell me you love me, Christine." He bellowed into her ear between large gulps of air.

"I love you, Raoul," she said, but it was halfhearted. She loved him. She did. But not like this…

"You don't mean it," he hissed back, pounding harder into her, making her wince.

"I do! I do!" she cried, trying to force the tears back into her eyes before they spilled down her cheeks.

A wicked smile crept across his face. "Good girl." He whispered then shuddered, shooting his seed into her, biting down on his lip and closing his eyes for a moment. Then he rolled off of her, onto the bed next to her, sprawling out.

She tried to move, but he grabbed her wrist once more. "Stay." He commanded, and she helplessly obeyed.

_New York…_

"And how would we remedy the _problem_?" Giry spoke in a hushed tone just outside of the room Meg now laid in.

"It is risky, Madame. I will not lie to you. But for a fee, we could certainly take care of it."

She glanced back over her shoulder. "I will get the money to you." She assured him, walking back into the room where her daughter lay curled up on the bed.

"What's wrong with me?" she asked rather pitifully.

"Nothing, darling. Just go to sleep. You will be better in a few days…"

"But I thought I heard him say—"

Giry cut her off. "Nothing dear. You just need to stay here, and they'll look after you. Now just sleep. They gave you something to help. Just close your eyes…" she smoothed back the hair from her daughter's forehead and watched her eyes slowly close. She sat down next to her and continued to stroke her hair, humming a lullaby she used to sing to Meg as a little girl, and for the first time in many years, cried.


	11. Chapter 11

AN: Thank you all so much for your outpouring of love and support for the story. It makes writing worthwhile.

And to whoever wrote "argh. Raoul. You suck. The end." I really love you because I laughed hardcore at that. Because that kind of sums him up. Though he may get redeemed temporarily at least.

_Paris…_

"I'm sorry Raoul. It's not as if I can help such things…" Christine apologized.

"Damn you! Blood! Blood! Upon the sheets, upon yourself, reminding me that still your body is without a child."

"Raoul it's only been a few months since we started trying again. And Gustave. We have Gustave." He glared at her, then the child sitting in the bassinette with a toy rabbit.

He swallowed down his desire to call the child a bastard. "Yes…we have Gustave. But I want another. I want one of my—" He stopped himself short again, swallowing down the hate inside him. "We should have more than one. We should have another, and the sooner the better." He turned and stormed from the room.

"Please Raoul!" she called after him. "Please don't go to the bar!"

He turned on his heel and faced her. "Please what? Please what?" He came back and stared her in the face. "Please what, Christine?"

Her breath caught in her throat, and she shivered. "Please…stay here…"

"Why? So you can mock me with your child and your blood?"

"No Raoul. We need you…"

"You need nothing from me…you've always found whatever you needed elsewhere…" he turned and sped down the stairs, trying to keep from screaming or crying or showing any real emotion. "She needs nothing from me. She is content with the bastard. She would be happier without me. So she shall have nothing from me unless she can give me something in return. No love. No pity. No money. I shall spend it all before I let her grubby hands have a penny…"

_New York…_

"Meg!" Giry beat heavily upon her door. "Meg! You are late for your rehearsal! This does not look good to the others, Meg!"

No response.

"Meg! I swear if you do not open this door I will beat it in!"

No response.

A fear swept over Giry as she tried the knob and found it open. She burst inside, looking about the room for her daughter. Lying in the bath, blonde hair piled high upon her head, porcelain arm draped over the edge, fingers just touching the floor, was meg, the water: red.

"Oh dear Lord! God no! Please!" she grabbed the girl, dragging her onto the floor and putting a towel over her, looking for some wound, some sign she had injured herself.

Erik heard Giry's screeches and came running into the trailer. "What on earth is the matter?"

"No! No! You mustn't see her like this!" Giry tried to hold up on a hand to protest, but Erik was already standing over her shoulder.

"Oh God…Meg…"

"Please! Call for a doctor! She's still breathing!"

Erik rushed back out of the trailer and swung onto the backs of one of the horses, riding as speedily as possible toward the town.

"Meg, Meg, My poor little Meg…what have you done…?" She tried to dry the water and blood off of her, wiping her skin so gently and trying to warm her. She grabbed her dressing gown and put it around her, picking Meg up in her arms and lying her down on the bed. She felt so light, like she was a little girl again. Giry had not noticed how her bones had begun to protrude. She looked as though she hadn't eaten in months, her cheeks sunken in, her skin so pale…

Fleck appeared in the doorway. "Madame Giry. I brought what supplies I have. I passed the master as he stormed away looking for the doctor. But I have a few herbs and salve…" she set the bag down beside Giry and stood on the other side of the bed, looking at Meg.

"Thank you…" Giry choked out, still stroking her daughter's hand. It was not warm any longer. Yet Meg's weak pulse still beat, and her chest continued to rise shallowly.

"Are there cuts? I could apply it…if that's…" she asked with caution. What could one say? She, like the others, thought it must've been self-inflicted.

"No…I couldn't find any…"

"Then…?" Fleck inquired, trying not to press too much, but…the bathtub was so red. Where had it all come from?

"Meg had…surgery…a few months ago…I think something…went wrong…"

"Surgery?" Fleck asked back, looking at her. "How did we not know? How did you even afford-?"

"When she fell ill in rehearsal…"

"But she was fine…in a week…you said it was a stomach flu."

"It wasn't…"

"Then what was…?" Fleck saw the pool of blood beginning to stain her dressing gown right between her legs and gasped. "No…"

"One of our benefactors paid…"

"It was his fault!"

"No. No. He cares for Meg."

"It was. It must've been. Meg doesn't—"

"Shh…" Giry said, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter now. It happened. And she survived it…"

"Does she even…?" Fleck sat down and took her other hand.

"Know? No."

"You never even told her?"

"It would've just made it harder for her. This way is better. This way hurts her far less…"

_Paris…_

"Is there anything…anything at all I can do?"

"I'm afraid not. You conceived so easily before. I do not understand what could possibly make the difference. Or why the Viscount believes that another child is needed immediately."

Christine hung her head. "He seems…displeased with Gustave…" she was beginning to think she knew why. He could sense it. He could feel it. When she never bled on their wedding night…he assumed Erik had raped her. She knew that's what he must've assumed. And she never told him otherwise. Now…she was sure he knew Gustave was not his child.

"Well, there is no reason. He is a healthy baby boy. Especially considering how early he made his appearance into this world."

"Yes…he is healthy and happy…" she agreed, and swallowed down the lump in her throat. "Perhaps he wanted a daughter, not a son…"

"Well, you have a lifetime to have daughters and sons alike. I would not worry. If you have had a child, there is no foreseeable reason why you should not be able to have another whenever you wish." He smiled at her, patting her back comfortingly.

"And if we had not…?" she questioned, prodding a bit further, trying not to around suspicion but also trying to see if perhaps there was an answer.

"Well, my dear, I see no reason to wonder such things. Here is a beautiful baby boy, just as well as he can be." He picked up the stuffed Rabbit and handed it to Gustave who made little coos and ahhs at it. "But if you had not conceived I would say that three months is no real indication. Especially since your body is going through so many changes at the moment. I truly would not worry. There will be plenty of time for both of you."

She nodded and picked up Gustave. "Thank you. Thank you from both of us. I am sure that I am merely in my head about the whole ordeal. Raoul and I have a wonderful son, and we shall have more children when God deems it so…" If God deemed her worthy to be mother of his children. Oh if only she could have his child, he might love her again, stop drinking, stop hating everyone and everything. Biologically or not, Gustave was his son. Raoul was her husband, and Gustave was her child. He would have to adjust and stop being so obstinate. Perhaps, talking would be in order.

_New York…_

"She hemorrhaged. I stopped the bleeding, but…." The doctor shook his head, turning in to Giry. "She'll never be the same…"

"The same?" Giry asked, furrowing her brows together, questioning his tone and words.

"In order to stop the bleeding…I had to remove….some of her organs."

"Remove her organs!" Giry's hand flew to her mouth.

"Yes. Her…well…there were complications from the surgery. There was a tear from the removal and…I'm sorry, she'll never have children now."

Giry's body collapsed into itself, biting down on her lip and holding back the tears.

"Apparently something happened in the procedure that we did not expect. The small tear has been growing in size until it was too large to attempt to repair. If she had come sooner…"

"Come sooner? Come sooner? How would she have known? How could anyone have known?"

"She has probably had bleeding these few months since the procedure. Has she not complained of being tired? Been especially pallid? Disinterested in food? Fatigued?"

"Well…she seemed to be eating less…and she was pale, but it's cold. She doesn't exactly spend her days sunbathing. And of course she's tired…we practice twelve hours a day!"

"She's probably been anemic for weeks…and something must've happened in the last twenty four hours to rip the tear even more to bring this onset of—"

Giry shook her head. "Oh my God. Oh God. She fell. She fell yesterday in rehearsal. She slipped on an icy patch and fell. I made her get up and keep going…"

"It must've jarred her. Caused the rip. It's a miracle you found her when you did. She'd almost bled to death…"

"God in heaven. She doesn't even know what happened before. She must be so scared and confused…"

"At the moment, she's still unconscious. She may be for several days until her blood count is high enough, and we can get some fluids into her. Will your friend be covering this bill as well?"

Giry bit down on her lip, "He damn well better. He cost her…her future, her happiness, and almost her life. He damn well better."

_Paris…_

"Raoul please sit down."

"I will not sit down, Christine! You talked about our personal affairs with a near stranger!" He paced back and forth, ranting.

"With our doctor. And it was merely an inquiry. I was only telling you that he said there was no reason that we should have any problem—"

"But we ARE having a problem, Christine! There is a problem!"

"But Gustave—"

"Gustave! Gustave! Gustave! Always about the boy! Always about him! Not me! Him!"

"He's our child…"

"Is he? Is he Christine? Because you're my wife, but I sure as hell did not get to experience what it was like to have a true wife, did I Christine?"

"Raoul…" She reached out to him as he passed her chair.

"No! No!" he stood in front of her, pointing in her face. "Don't 'Raoul' me! Tell the truth, Christine. He defiled you! He stole that right from me! I never touched you, and yet you weren't pure for me, Christine!"

"Yes, Raoul…"

"So you admit it?"

"Yes Raoul…"

"So you admit you're a whore?"

"No Raoul. I admit I wasn't pure for you."

"Then he did…"

She lied. "Yes."

"Why that horrible bastard if he wasn't already dead I'd kill him with my bare hands!"

Christine shuddered. "But he is. He's dead, Raoul. He's dead. Let him lie dead. Let him not invade our lives any longer. It is only you, and I, and our child."

"Is he? Is he Christine?" Raoul screamed at her.

"Yes. Yes he is our child. And to think otherwise would be absurd." She stood and grasped his face in her hands. "This has to stop, Raoul. This suspicion. This disbelief. It has to stop. That little boy is our son, yours and mine. And I am your wife, no one else's. Whatever happened before is gone. It's gone, Raoul. And the only chance we have at happiness is if we bury it." There were tears streaming down her face. "Please, let us bury it…"

He reached up and touched her face, gently brushing it with his fingertips, and for the first time in a long time, looked at her the way he used to, like he loved her. "Oh Christine, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for having taken this all out on you. That monster has made me one too. I'll do better. I'll love you like we loved before."

"I love you, Raoul. I do. Please, all I want is to have you, the real, whole you, and our son. That's all I need in this world…." She gently kissed him. "If I can have that…I need nothing else…"


	12. Chapter 12

AN: I don't think I've ever heard people refer to Raoul as a fop. I mean, he is, but…you guys are killing me with calling him that. But sorry KPW, he's not getting killed off.

_New York…_

The morning sun streamed in through the little hospital window and streamed across Meg's pale face. She felt it hit her eyes, and they fluttered open, looking around, confused. This was not where she had remembered being. Where was she? How long had she been here? How did she get here? And why did she feel as though she could hardly move?

"Mama…" she said hoarsely, looking down and seeing Giry collapsed beside her, sitting in a chair but laying over on the bed as well.

Madame Giry's head shot up and looked straight at Meg. "Oh thank you Jesus in Heaven!" she jumped to her feet and squeezed her daughter tightly.

She coughed weakly and made a popping noise with her dry lips.

"Here," Giry reached behind her and poured some water out of a now cold kettle. Beside it there had been a sponge she had used to wet Meg's lips and try to get some liquid in her. She put the cup to Meg's lips and tilted just enough to let Meg get a good sip. She swallowed it down, and took another. Then Giry set the cup back down on the table. "Not too much. Take it slowly."

"Where am I?" she asked, after taking a moment to let the water flow down her throat and wash away the parched feeling that seeped through her whole body.

"The hospital. Do you remember what happened?"

"No…I…." Meg looked dazed and confused, searching for a memory that evaded her.

"Do you remember when you were sick some months ago?" Giry asked, trying to start at the beginning.

"Yes. But they fixed me."

"Yes, they fixed you. But…there was more…"

"More what?" Meg asked, trying to understand, but her head was so cloudy. And her mother just wasn't making any sense.

"More wrong than we had thought…" GIry wasn't sure she could tell her everything. How the choice she'd made without ever letting Meg know had altered her life forever. It wasn't a lie that there was more wrong. There had been. It had been a complication, but it was _more._

"I thought you said they fixed it all…" Meg said, still so lost.

"They thought they had, but there were…complications. They fixed it, but something else went wrong. Meg, you've been tired and bleeding more than usual?"

She looked down in her lap. "I didn't want to tell you. It was embarrassing that it never seemed to stop. I thought maybe I'd done something wrong…"

"No, you hadn't done anything wrong, dear."

"But Mr. Winthrop…"

"What about him?" Giry asked curtly, angered by even the name of that wretched man.

"He said I'd done something wrong…that I was costing him undue money…what did he mean?"

"He paid for you medical bills."

"Mother! He will take that out of the funding for the island. He will charge Erik more interest now. You should have just let me find a way to make it up to him…" Meg tried to sit up, but felt too woozy.

"This is all his fault in the first place…" Giry growled.

"He is helping Erik. I am helping Erik. I had something he wanted, and I let him have it because I would do anything for Erik, Mother." Meg looked her straight in the eye and tried not to let tears form in her eyes. She wasn't sure her body had enough liquid in it to even make them if she had wanted them to come.

"Meg you'll never have children because of that man…"

"What?" she sat straight up, tears now flowing. She felt the room spin and clung to the edge of the bed.

"After you were sick…after you were some better…did he hurt you again? Did he force himself on you?"

"He never—" she hesitated. "I'll never have children?"

"Were you with him again!" Giry nearly screamed.

"Yes!"

GIry shook her head and touched her daughter's face. "Meg you were carrying his child…"

"Oh God…" Meg touched her stomach.

"He didn't want it. It would have ruined you. He wouldn't marry someone like you, Meg. And I'm sorry, but it's all that could be done…"

"Oh God…" she began to realize all that her mother was saying. "You had them kill my baby, and by doing so I'll never have another child…you took away my only chance, Mother?" Meg shook her head. "You didn't even tell me…you didn't give me a choice!" She gripped the edge of the bed tighter until her knuckles were solid white.

Giry tried to comfort her, but Meg pushed her away.

"It was bad enough I let him defile me for Erik…for you…" she laid down and turned away from her mother. "But now you've taken away the only child I could ever have…He could never want me now…if I could sing all the Arias in the world like Christine, what would he want with a barren woman? I never had her beauty. I never had her talent. And now I don't even have the possibility of reproduction. I am worthless to him mother. I wish you had just let me die."

_Paris…_

"Yes, I would like the preparations to be made ready. It is not every day that one's first born child turns a year old." Christine buzzed about the house instructing others in what was to be done.

"Viscountess, it has all been prepared. There is no need to fuss," one of the maids assured her.

"Thank you, Claudia. I understand that, but it is for my son."

"Yes, Viscountess." She nodded and disappeared back into the bustle of people.

Another maid appeared with a little boy dressed all in blue with dark curls pouring form his head. She set him down, and he toddled toward Christine. She picked him up and swept him into her arms. "There is my handsome young man! Gustave. Look at you."

"Almost as handsome as his mother…" Raoul's voice came from behind her. She turned, looking under her plumed hat at the handsome man coming toward her.

"Raoul. You look handsome as well." She leaned forward and placed a kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you, my love. The new dress suits you. I always did love you in rose…" Her dress was a deep shade of pink with cream accents. It was boned and corseted, laced so tightly that one would never suspect she had ever carried a child. Her waist looked a small as a saucer. And the bustle in the back helped to further contrast her small waist and accentuate her assets.

It was clear that despite the some nine months of trying to conceive another child had been futile. Christine looked thinner than ever. Actually, her arms and jaw were beginning to look a bit gaunt. Perhaps it was the pressure from Raoul, or just the emptiness from a lack of music in her life.

"There will be a reporter and photographer at the christening to report on the happy family of Viscount and Viscountess and child," Raoul prattled on.

"I only hope it doesn't frighten him…"

"Oh he's a strong boy. I doubt much frightens him. Right, Gustave?" he took the child from his mother, and he began to scream.

"Shh. Shh. There there Gustave. It's alright." She patted his back trying to calm the wailing, but it continued; and she eventually took the child back in her arms, at which point the screaming ceased.

"He doesn't like me."

"He isn't used to your holding him. He is always held by women, myself and nursemaids. Perhaps the touch of a man feels different. Or perhaps you should just spend more time with him, and he will grow to love your embrace."

Raoul snorted.

"He's only a child, Raoul. He doesn't know how to like or not like someone. He knows familiarity and comfort. If you were just around a little more…" As soon as the words came from her mouth she regretted saying them.

"Am I not _around_ enough? Do you really need my assistance with mundane things?" He snapped.

"No, Raoul, I just meant…Gustave and I spend a lot of time together in the days when you're gone to the club or on business. You just need to spend a little more time with him, and he will warm to you…"

_New York…_

"5, 6, 7, 8…" Giry called watching the small flock of girls dance. If you could call it dance. It certainly wasn't the beautiful ballet she had once taught. These girls were doing good to get a little simple footwork in. But they were attractive girls. They would bring them crowds.

Erik stood in the back looking at the gaggle of girls, scoffing. He sat down next to Fleck who had a newspaper in her hand.

"You seem as interested as I am," he commented.

"I am just waiting for my turn to rehearse. At this rate, it may be tomorrow…" She flipped the page.

Something familiar caught Erik's eye. "Wait…" he said, pulling the page out and staring at it. Christine?

"Oh? That? Yeah announcements from abroad. Rich people flaunting their wealth. Some opera diva turned minor royalty and her husband just held a christening for their first child."

Their child…his heart sank. He looked at the picture of the two smiling with a child in a white gown. "Son, Gustave…" he read, sighing. "Age…one?" he read it over and over. "One. It says one…"

"Yeah," said Fleck, unsure of what the matter was.

"He's only one. They've only been married…" his breath caught in his throat. "Oh God…" He sprung to his feet and ran out of the rehearsal.

_Paris…_

"That party cost us a fortune…" Raoul massaged his temples going over figures while sitting on the edge of the bed.

Christine rubbed his back with her hands. "But it was for our son, Raoul."

"Yes. Yes. It's just…" he rubbed harder. "Things are much more tight than I had first assumed."

"Tight?"

"There is some money hidden away, but it's not available to me at this time. But to continue living as we are, we will need to acquire some…"

"I could sing…" Christine suggested.

"No. No need for that…" he brushed the subject.

"Then how will you?"

"I have enough to turn a profit. First thing in the morning I leave for Monte Carlo. I'll get back my losses from the tables." She looked at him nervously. "Don't worry my love. It's a sure thing. I am quite good at my card games. I am a smart gambler."

She laid down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. "I could just sing…they'd pay me a great deal just to do one show…"

"No. You are my wife now. You are the Viscountess alone. Be wife to me and mother to my son. Don't fret about anything else." He kissed her, but she would fret about it. She feared when he went off on business trips that he meant gambling. And the more he gambled, the more he drank, and the more he drank, the more he gambled. And the more he drank and gambled, the worse his judgment got, and the more money he lost. She knew he had blown through enough to live comfortably, as they were accustomed, fully staffed, for several years in a single night. If only he would let her help…let her sing…it would give her that rush once more, and it would help their financial woes. If only she could sing…

_New York…_

If only he could get her to sing. If only he could lure her to sing there. He had to know. He had to know if the child was his. The timing…either the child was supremely premature, or it was his. It had to be. Even being his, it still would have been early, but he knew she was to marry Raoul almost a month after that night…and it would all add up. God, Christine carried his child inside her. He had a son. He knew it.

"Composing?" Giry asked. She had apparently been standing behind him for some time, but he had been so lost in thought he had not heard her approach.

"Yes. A special project," he replied.

"For Meg?"

He made no response.

"For Meg?" she repeated.

Nothing.

"For whom?"

"No one."

"For her…" she growled.

"It is none of your concern what I compose or whom I compose it for!"

"We open in three weeks…and you're composing for a ghost."

"She is not a ghost. She is alive and well." He thrust the paper at her.

"Ah. Alive, well, and with a bouncing baby boy," she said, looking at the picture.

"Yes. A handsome child, like his mother."

"Like his father," Giry said, hoping to thrust a knife of pain into his heart and twist it.

"No, not at all like his father…" he replied. The child was too beautiful. Perhaps it could not be his. There was no deformity. There was no evil. It was pristine.

"Just remember…she left you. We saved you. We have supported you. We have been everything to you. Meg nearly died trying to please you. Christine married Raoul. She's married with a child, his child. Leave it alone. Leave the past behind…"


	13. Chapter 13

AN: I am so sorry to all of you that it's taken me…forever…to get back to this. I started writing it and then my computer was stolen. Then I started again, and the hard drive crashed. Then I just got frustrated with life and lost my muse. But here I am! I got a review recently and thought "damn, I really don't need to leave them hanging." So, I'm back. I will try to be more regular.

_New York…_

Side by side newspaper headlines read "Extravaganza Opens on Coney Island" and "French Viscount looses small fortune at craps." It almost felt like their lives continued to be linked, even with thousands of miles between them. Eric stared at the paper reading every word of both articles meticulously. He wanted the opening to go off without a hitch and be publicized well, but he also wanted desperately to find a way to lure Christine and his son to America. And if the opening went well…he might be able to…thanks to Raoul.

Giry burst into the tent he had sheltered himself in while the cacophony of shrill little voices sang a vaudeville tune and shook their behinds. "We open tomorrow! You should be encouraging the girls!"

"They don't need encouragement. They need talent."

Giry fumed, snatching the paper from his hands. "You spoiled child! You mustn't behave this way if you have a prayer of us becoming something here. Then all of this work, of this money, of this time will be wasted entirely. People like to see girls like those out there. Men LOVE to see those girls. If you were normal you would understand that-"

He grabbed her wrist, standing up over her, feeling like a dark cold shadow. "You know better than to speak to me that way, Giry. I am not normal. I have never been. But I would not go about telling me what I was and was not, and what I would and would not do if I were you. You've seen the things I'm capable of."

She stood her ground though her soul was shaking, "Well you do not know what a mother of a wounded child is capable of either." She snatched her wrist from him, wringing it, then turning on her heel.

A wounded child? What did he have to do with Meg's illness? He knew she had been sick, hospitalized, but he had not bothered himself with the details. She was back on her feet now, and while having never had much talent, she was brighter than the other girls on stage. Her blonde curls were an attractant to many men, and if he had ever seen her as anything besides the daughter of a woman who was very much like an older sister to him, he might have even called her pretty.

_Paris…_

"Please, Raoul, don't." Christine called to him as he slung another glass against the wall and it shattered into more sparkling shards on the floor.

"Those bastards! How dare they print such slanderous lies about me!"

"But Raoul they're not-" He spun on his heel. "..true…" she lied, trying to cover herself.

"You believe them, don't you? You believe the filth they print about me? You believe your husband is a philandering drunk gambler?"

"No, I don't believe you've been unfaithful," she said with kind caring eyes. The rest…she knew was true.

"Oh? But I am a drunk? And I have an addiction?" he raised his hand to her and smacked her across the face. She drew her hand to her cheek, trying not to let the tears forming in her eyes roll down her face. "You worthless whore. I went to Monte Carlo for you! For you and that boy upstairs! The both of you need so much from me. You demand so much from me. You weren't even decent enough to be a virgin for our wedding bed, and you dare accuse me of my flaws? Perhaps you should look in a mirror!" He grabbed her by the back of the neck and thrust her face into the dresser mirror. It shattered, cutting her cheeks. She closed her eyes just in time that none of the glass got into them, but on the lids were some scratches. A large shard lodged itself in her forehead, and Raoul pulled her close.

"Oh God! Christine! I am so sorry!" He tried to pull the glass from her face, and she shrieked. "Help! Someone! Christine's been injured! Please call the doctor!"

_Paris…_

"She'll be alright. Don't be so hard on yourself," the bartender comforted, wiping off another whiskey glass and putting it under the counter.

"I did that to her…" he shuddered, throwing back the rest of the dark liquid into his mouth before slamming the cup down and staring into its empty, stained bottom.

"Bitch was askin' for it-"

Raoul's head shot up, and his hand darted to grasp the throat of the man in front of him. "That is my wife. You will NEVER speak that way about my wife. Do you understand?" The man's breath was caught, and no words escaped. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" He squeaked a little and tried to nod, and this motion satisfied Raoul enough to drop him and sit back on his stool. "Now," he said, pushing the glass toward him, "another."

_New York…_

"What a beautiful performance Meg!" Giry cried, hugging her daughter as she came back into the trailer after the opening night's performance.

"He wasn't there." Her voice and eyes were hollow.

"Who?" Giry asked, taking a step back, hands still on her shoulders and looking her over.

"Eric…he wasn't there…"

"Of course he was, my dear. He wouldn't have missed the opening," Giry lied. She knew where he was. He was in that damned trailer composing…for Christine.

"No…I scanned the crowd, and though it was large, I would have seen him. He wasn't there mother. He knows. He knows I'm talentless and barren, and he could never love me now."

"Shh, child. He knows nothing. You are very talented," she pushed Meg's chin up with her thumb. "And don't you forget it. You are here. And you are now. And you get stronger every day. You feel well?"

"Yes Mama." She hung her head once more.

"Well enough to see Mister Jones tonight?" she asked, skeptically.

"Yes, Mama." Meg walked over to her little dressing table and began taking off her gloves.

"If you don't feel up to it, I can tell him to come again tomorrow. He just wanted to congratulate you on your success. Even if Eric doesn't see it, you were a STAR tonight, mon petite. You shined so beautifully. All the men in that crowd were in love with you."

"Except him…" Meg took off her earrings and set them down on the table next to the folded gloves and ran a comb through her finger waves.

"Don't redo your hair. It looks beautiful," Giry assured her.

"Fine," Meg half-snapped, but her voice was too tired to hold anger. It was just bitter and empty. She slipped off the costume, laying it over the chair back before grabbing a grey formed dress.

"Not that. You look like an old maid in that." Giry snatched in from her hands and replaced it with a soft cream lace dress with three quarter sleeves and a square, charming neckline. "This makes you look beautiful, young, and virginal."

"Well we both know I'm not that," Meg spat back.

"It is all about the illusion my dear. Men don't care what's real. They care what you make them believe. So make Mister Jones believe you are a young, vibrant, virginal, doe-eyed girl just looking to be taken care of. He will admire you, adore you, and give you whatever you ask."

"But I don't want anything from him-"

"This show cannot run without patrons, Meg. You know this as well as I. We still have quite a debt to repay. And it won't hurt Erik to see you being treated well by other men. A man is a jealous creature, and he will not wish to share you. You will see."

She looked at herself in the mirror, still holding the dress draped over one arm, ivory corset laced tightly round her waist. Her collarbone was very apparent, and her jaw line jagged. Even after several weeks of recovery she was gaunt and pale. She pinched her cheeks to try and return some color to them. She ran her thin fingers along the curve of her neck and shoulder, feeling the protruding bones. And after a moment of resting her hand on her elbow she stopped staring and began to put on the dress, just as her mother had said.

"You'll have to help me with the pearl buttons. I can't reach all the way around…"

_Paris…_

Christine drew in air through her teeth, making a sharp hissing noise as the doctor dabbed salve onto her wounds once more. "I know it stings a bit, but we don't want any infection."

"A bit? It hurts more than falling through the mirror."

"And you're sure you FELL?" the doctor repeated.

"I've told you every time you've asked for the past week. I tripped over my skirts and fell into the mirror. Nothing more, nothing less. I just need to have dresses made in that new fashion of shortening the skirts. Apparently I am too clumsy to walk in my old ones." She winced as he moved on to the next wound.

"And on your arm?" he asked, pointing to the ring just above her elbow that was blue and purple.

"Maybe it happened in the fall," she replied, pushing down the sleeve to cover it once more.

"I know you love and want to protect him, but if he's hurting you…you can tell me."

"He doesn't know he does it. It's just the alcohol-"

"Damn drunk," the doctor mumbled under his breath. "I'd love to pour all that stuff in the Seine."

"He's just not the Raoul I married when he drinks. He's a good man, doctor. He truly is." He patted her hand and smiled.

"I know, Christine. I believe you. I knew him since he was a boy. Liquor's no good for anyone. My father was a drunk. A doctor and a drunk, what a combination. I've never touched the stuff. Best not to." He squeezed her hand gently, "But if you need anything, you have them ring me right away. I won't stand to see you hurt like this. You've got too much to live for. Namely, that little boy in the other room who is growing up too fast. You don't want to miss a moment of that."

"No, I don't." she assured him.

"And he needs his mother not to FALL anymore, lest he lose her."

"Would you help him? Can you?" she pleaded.

"If he's willing, I can surely try." He assured her, smiling then standing from the edge of the bed.

"And you will be back tomorrow to reapply the salve, yes?"

"Yes, viscountess, I surely will." He placed his hat back upon his head, tipped it, and turned to walk out of her room.

Christine knew that any of her maids could apply the salve with no real experience. It was not a difficult task, but she also knew Doctor Browning was doing more than just dressing her wounds. He was trying to heal her soul. Her eyes wandered up back toward the door and saw a shadow approaching. Raoul's hair was disheveled, but he looked more hung over than drunk. He slowly walked into the room holding a vase with lilies in it and placed it on her bedside table.

"A peace lily," he said.

"Actually they're day lilies, but they are lovely nonetheless. Thank you Raoul."

"Well, not a peace lily but lilies for peace. I love you Christine. I don't want to hurt you." He had realized when the bartender had made his jab that he would protect her with his life, so why was he making hers so miserable by his existence?

"They're beautiful, and of course. You needn't apologize. I'm going to be just fine. Doctor Browning just told me so himself." She half smiled, her face still not fully mobile as the nerves caused pain when she moved it too much.

"I've marred that beautiful face…" he said, shaking his head, shrugging off his coat.

"No. Only temporary. You can ask Doctor Browning yourself tomorrow when he comes again." At least if he were there perhaps the doctor could talk some sense into him.

"Christine I'm so sorry." He said, stepping out of his shoes and crawling onto the bed, grasping for her hand. "I'm so sorry. I've treated you so badly. It was never you I was mad at. It was myself. It was HIM."

"He's not here, Raoul. Don't let him ruin our lives. He's dead, a ghost."

Raoul laid his head upon her chest, trying to hold back the tears in his eyes. "Why didn't I protect you? Why didn't I end him the moment I found out…?"

"The past is passed. Let is lie there. Let us move forward. Please, Raoul." She pled, eyes closing, hoping he would leave the topic behind. Her heart still stung to think of him. Why hadn't she woken when he did? Why had he left her? Why did he take her into his arms and flee? Did he really think she couldn't love him in daylight the way she had in darkness? Would it have made a difference if he had known about Gustave? Was he even alive?

They each laid there in their own private hell created by a man they both despised in their own way, and fueled by a love they could never fully express. Raoul had not the gift of music to share his soul with Christine, and Christine had lost the man who gave her the music. They were both utterly helpless lying there in each others arms, wishing for something else, anything else, because this was not the life they had meant to live. The absence of him was more unshakable than his physical presence had been in the Opera house. So they sat in silence, eyes closed, and listened to the sound around them, the music of the life they had made.


End file.
